


Leaves of Three

by wesleysgirl



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 16:44:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4356728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleysgirl/pseuds/wesleysgirl





	Leaves of Three

 

"Bloody hell, what have you done now?" Carson asked, pulling on some gloves and  
reaching for John's hands.

John yanked them away protectively, cradling them nearer his chest. "Easy there, Doc. Don't make me regret coming here."

"Like we were going to let you have any say in the matter," Ronon said. He was leaning against the wall.

"It's not that bad," John said. It was a lie -- his hands were screaming and he was pretty sure there was sweat beaded around his hair line -- but he thought he pulled it off pretty well.

"I'll be the judge of that." Carson rolled a chair closer and sat down, holding one hand out to John, palm up. "Here now, lad, let me see."

"I'm not that much younger than you, you know," John mumbled. He put his hand in Carson's, careful not to straighten out his fingers because that was what made the pain go from bad to stomach-turning.

Carson was looking at his face. "Hands are the worst," he said sympathetically. "I'll numb them up for you in a moment. Rodney thought it was some sort of allergic reaction?"

"He'd know," John said, closing his eyes so he didn't have to look at the raw, angry blisters.

"One minute he was fine, then that happened," Ronon offered, gesturing like that was going to help.

"It was some sort of plant?" Carson asked.

"With really shiny leaves," Ronon said. "None of the rest of us touched it."

"Good thing," John said. There'd been a few seconds of a curious prickling sensation, then a burning like he'd put his hands into a fire. "Guess I should have taken that whole 'Leaves of three, let it be' thing more seriously."

"Aye, well, it sounds like some sort of oil," Carson said. "It's good you washed it off when you did -- there's no telling what sort of damage it might have done."

"But I'll be okay, right?" John asked.

"You'll heal up just fine," Carson assured him. "I'm going to wash them down again, make sure none of the toxin is lingering, then give you a steroid injection to get control of this reaction.I won't lie to you -- you're going to have an uncomfortable couple of weeks before you're back to normal. But you'll be fine." He glanced at Ronon. "Off with you, then. The Colonel doesn't need an audience for this, and I'm sure you've better things to do than hold up the wall."

Ronon pushed himself to standing and nodded. "Okay. See you later?"

"Sure," John said.

He didn't understand why Carson had suggested Ronon should leave until Carson started washing his hands. The alcohol felt like acid to his bloodied, blistered skin, and it was all he could do not to scream.

"Just another minute, John," Carson said. "Once I'm certain we've got them clean, a quick rinse with water and then I'll be able to put the topical anesthetic on..."

It felt more like ten minutes than one, and then finally Carson was spraying a blissfully numbing white foam onto John's hands. The shock of going from excruciating pain to none was so extreme that for a few seconds all John could do was blink and breathe.

Then he puked all over the floor, narrowly missing Carson's shoes.

"There, there, lad," Carson was saying, patting his shoulder and holding a basin in front of him -- John almost tried to hold it himself before he remembered. "Perfectly normal. Take some deep breaths."

Deep breaths made John feel like puking again, so he went with shallow ones until the worst of it had passed. "Sorry about that," he said as Carson led him away so that someone could deal with the mess he'd made.

"Not at all. It's fine." Carson took John into one of the self-contained bathrooms and shut the door. There was a rack with towels and some nearly folded scrubs. "Now, I'd like to get you out of these clothes, just in case any of the oil got transferred onto them. The last thing we need is for you to end up with another bad patch."

"Okay," John agreed. "But how am I...?"

Carson held up a pair of scissors, the short, blunt kind. "We'll just cut them off," he said, and John sighed and let the doctor go to work.

* * * * *

The infirmary was quiet; John Sheppard was sleeping and Carson was finishing up some paperwork. One signature from being done, his pen abruptly quit working. Carson sighed and got up to get another, then noticed that Colonel Sheppard was squirming slightly and looking uncomfortable, although the man's eyes were closed.

Going over to his bedside, Carson said quietly, "John?"

John opened his eyes and squirmed again, bending one knee. "Itchy," he said. "I can't sleep."

"Your hands?" Carson asked.

"No." John shook his head, looking almost embarrassed. "My foot."

"I can get that for you," Carson offered. He didn't wait for an answer, just untucked the sheet and blanket from beneath the mattress and took firm hold of John's ankle. "This one?" He glanced at it quickly to make sure the skin there wasn't affected by the same reaction John's hands had, but it looked perfectly normal.

"Uh-huh," John said. "Right under the -- oh my God, yeah, right there." His heartfelt groan made Carson smile as he scratched underneath John's toes.

"Say when," Carson told him.

A moment later, John flushed and pulled his foot away. "Um, yeah. When." Now he sounded _terribly_ embarrassed.

Carson frowned. "What's wrong?"

John brought his knee up again, but not before Carson noticed the erection that was obviously the problem. "Nothing," John said, but Carson met his gaze steadily until he flushed more deeply and muttered, "I have sensitive feet, okay?"

Trying to keep his tone even, Carson said, "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Colonel."

"I'm not ashamed," John snapped. "I'm uncomfortable, and quickly realizing that it's going to be weeks before I can jerk off, but I'm not ashamed."

"Well," Carson said. "Good. Because you shouldn't be. It happens surprisingly often, actually."

"Oh yeah?" John seemed interested. "I mean, I figured women must be all over you, but I didn't know guys..."

Determined to make his point, Carson flipped the covers back down over John's feet and stepped to the side of the bed. "Bodies are designed to react to touch, Colonel. They don't necessarily care where the touch comes from." He lay his hand on John's thigh and John inhaled sharply. "See?"

"Sometimes they do care," John said, his voice uneven, and he reached for Carson's wrist automatically, then hissed in pain.

"Easy, lad," Carson said, cradling the back of John's hand and checking to see that he hadn't hurt the damaged palm.

John let his leg slide back down -- he was still hard, the outline of his erection clear beneath the blanket. "Can I tell you something?" he asked softly.

"Anything," Carson said.

"I like guys, Carson," John said. It was barely above a whisper; even if someone else had been nearby, they wouldn't have heard it. "I always have."

"Really." Carson did his best to keep his tone noncommittal.

"Yeah," John said. He swallowed convulsively, his hand twitching in Carson's. "I like you."

Carson knew what John was asking for, and he certainly had no problem providing it. He glanced at the door, but they were alone and the shift change wasn't for nearly an hour. Setting John's hand down on the bed carefully, Carson put his hand on John's thigh where it had been before. "Would you like me to...?" he asked, and inched his hand higher.

John nodded. "But only if you want to," he whispered.

Slowly, Carson pulled the covers down to John's waist and slid his hand underneath, finding John's erection by touch because his eyes were on John's. "Tell me what you like," he said hoarsely, feeling the heat and hardness of John's cock under the thin fabric of the borrowed scrubs he was wearing.

John's eyes went glassy and his lips parted. "God. That's \-- that's good."

It was more arousing than Carson would have imagined to touch this man in a way designed to bring only pleasure. He knew what he liked, himself, and tried his best to duplicate it for John -- long, slow strokes from head to base, then shorter ones concentrated at the tip, until John was gasping and lifting his hips helplessly.

"Carson," John breathed. "God. I'm -- "

"That's right," Carson said, encouraging him. "Come on then."

John gasped again and came, his cock pulsing in Carson's hand, warm fluid dampening the fabric. Carson stilled his hand and waited for it to be over, then withdrew when John had relaxed, focused briefly on getting a cloth and wiping John clean.

"You should get some sleep," Carson said gently, hoping his own erection wasn't too obvious.

"I'd do something for you," John offered. "If I wasn't..." He gestured with his useless hands.

"Another time," Carson said.

John grinned tiredly. "I'm gonna hold you to that," he said.

And Carson, looking at him, thought that he probably meant it. "I'm sure you will," he said, and went off to finish his paperwork, smiling.

  
  
  



End file.
